Babel Novel
32
Kylie
I ditch Sam’s motorcycle downtown and check into the No-Tell Motel on Miracle Mile, a place where you can pay for a room with cash and rent by the hour. Porn is showing on the television in the room. Nice. Very nice atmosphere. I switch it off and pull out my laptop.
I’m dying to lose myself in code. No, I’m dying in general. I haven’t felt this lost, this destroyed since my father’s death. Back then, Meme was the only thing that kept me going. If I don’t have her now…
No. I can’t think that. My gut says she’s still alive, and I have to trust she is. She’s tough, even for an old woman.
So my new plan is to find Meme and leave town. But the emptiness of that plan, even being reunited with Meme, leaves me thinner than a ghost. Leaving Jackson believing the worst of me is unthinkable. One part of me hates him for not trusting in me-after what we did last night, he thinks I played him?
But maybe that’s why it cut him so deep. He isn’t someone who gives his trust easily or to very many. Last night, he shared his deepest tragedy with me. Seeing me with Stu must’ve felt like the worst betrayal to him. But understanding doesn’t lessen the sharp cut of his mistrust. He flayed me in a million pieces back at the airport.
Still, I need to make things right. I won’t let him believe I destroyed his entire life’s work. That I stole from him.
And even if I didn’t care about Jackson and SeCure, I need to make those fuckers pay for involving me in their greedy plan. Stu, included.
I get to work following the money trail. The FBI should eventually be able to follow it, too, but by the time they do, the money will be long diverted.
I have to hack into five different banks, which takes me the rest of the afternoon, but I pick up the trail.
Bingo.
I let out a wicked witch chuckle as I send the money back to the first place from which it was diverted and reverse every transaction. Most of those accounts will be frozen or on hold. Issued new numbers. But the point is, the money will be tied up while the banks try to figure out where it’s supposed to go.
Take that, Mr. X. Take that, Stu. Framing Catgirl was your biggest mistake.
The light has dimmed, and I take a break and check the antique board for a message from Meme. With a surge of joy, I see a message in my inbox.
Minette, I am with friends. Call them at 520-235-5055.
My heart pounds. I don’t dare use my phone, but I immediately hook up an Internet voice line and dial the number. A male voice answers. “Hello.”
For a moment, I freeze, not sure who I’m talking to or whether it’s safe.
“Hello?”
“May I speak to Jacqueline?”
“Ah. She’s been waiting for your call.” He says nothing more, but Meme’s voice comes on. “Minette! Dieu merci. Is it safe to talk?”
“Yes. Where are you?”
“I am with the Tucson wolf pack. Downtown.”
For a moment, I simply replay her words as my brain struggles to catch up. “Did you say wolf pack?”
“Oui. I’m sorry, I never told you, Minette. I am a shifter-a cat. Your mother, too.”
I’ve had too many surprises today to take it all in. My hand drops limp at my side. “Wh-what?”
“Where are you, Minette?”
Minette. The French word for puss. She’s always called me little cat because… she’s a cat. My mind topples ass over tea kettle down a slope of dawning. “My mom?” I croak.
“Yes, your maman, too. This is why this wolf is attracted to you. Where are you, my sweet?”
“Not far from downtown. Are you hurt? What happened?”
“I was hurt, but I will be better soon.”Text content © NôvelDrama.Org.
My engines finally start firing. “We need to leave town right away.” I stand and pick up my leather backpack purse.
“Are you sure?” There’s something coaxing in Meme’s voice, but I can’t decipher it. “Your wolf was just here. He said he’s sorry and wants to help.”
The tightness in my chest gives way to relief, followed quickly by anger. A wedge of stubbornness rises in me. He doesn’t get to flip-flop so quickly. I flip him a mental bird. He’s not my knight in shining armor. I’m the one saving his ass. I’m going to stick to my plan of reversing the money trail and refunding the millions in transactions and getting the hell out of Dodge.
If Jackson wants to beg for my forgiveness when that’s all complete, I might consider it. We’ll see.
“Give me the address where to find you, Meme.”
She must hand the phone back to its owner because the young man returns and rattles off the address of one of the few Tucson high-rise apartments downtown. He clears his throat. “Your grandmother needs some fresh clothes when you come, too.”
I hate the icy spines that needle up my arms at hearing that. “I’ll get her some clothes,” I promise.
I consider my options. I’m without a vehicle, since I already ditched Sam’s motorcycle. I could wait for a cab. I could hack Uber and set up with a credit card with one of my new ID names. But, for some reason, I want to do this without breaking the law. I don’t know, maybe I need to prove I’m not the criminal the entire world thinks I am.
My house is a few miles away. Meme’s clothes are right inside. The FBI will be watching. What about the supposed Mr. X? Probably.
Damn. I have a bag packed on my bed already. It’d be so great to run in and grab it and some things for Meme. Maybe what I need is a diversion.
I call for a cab and wait for it to arrive. Then I call in a violent robbery in progress at the house across the street from mine.
I lose the cab a block away from my place and head through the back alley, sticking to the shadows in the cover of night. Sirens screech in from several directions at my neighbor’s house. I creep up my back steps and use the key hidden in the mouth of a ceramic frog in the garden.
Inside, the house feels wrong. People have been inside. I don’t know how I can tell, but I know it without a doubt. But that’s no surprise. Surely the police have already searched the place. I move through the dark without turning on any lights. I grab my suitcase and move to my grandmother’s room. I hear the gun cock just before a hand claps over my mouth and hard metal prods the back of my head.